Ol' Fuzzy's Hearth: June 2017

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol 11

The Fall semester of 1980 begins a rough time for me to remember. This is the start of my relationship with the wonderful lady who became my wife, Bertha. We came together the second week of the semester, after her supposed fiancee told her he wanted to see all the other, prettier women on campus, and not be seen with her. I guess my biggest attraction to Bert was that she needed me. It is fine and lovely for a woman to be independent, but a couple needs to be interdependent, and that’s what Bert and I became. After only two weeks of doing everything with her, I could not imagine doing anything without her.

My GPA fell from 3.7 to 2.9 and I spent more money on Bertha than on my tuition. We had internships together, went to church together, took several classes together and studied together. Bertha was an elementary education major while I was still studying Bible and Ministerial Arts. But the electives and basic courses were still the same.

My homeletics course was easy that semester, I could always give a good talk if I took the time to organize my thoughts. The only hard part was trying to keep the sermons to ten or fifteen minutes. Vaudie Lambert told us, “Give me a couple of hours to fill and I can speak off the cuff. But if I only have ten minutes, it takes days to prepare.” But it was enormous fun.

That Fall, just like they do every year, the college sponsored a “Sadie Hawkins Party” based on the Li’l Abner comic strip character that was always stalking around Dog Patch trying to get her a man. For this party only the women could invite men to come. The year before, I was in the band and was exempt from this stricture. But this year Bertha asked me to come, so I put away my guitar. Bertha didn’t have a country style hat to wear, so I gave her my Stetson western hat for the night and broke out my old Resistol hat. It needed re-blocking, having spent the past few months in the bottom of a sea bag, so I blocked it Winchester style and pinned the front brim up like Forrest Kelley in F-Troop.

We had photos taken, and it was a joy to show off my lovely lady to all the people who took the time to look at the pics. Bertha had a beauty rare in a big and tall woman. It came from the love in her heart. You could see the light of that love radiate from her in every pose she struck. Even the camera loved her. Not something most people can say.

I can’t recall if it was that Christmas or the following Easter that I took Bertha to my mother’s and stepfather’s home in Margate, Florida to show her off. At first my family loved her and there was no wrong she could do. We attended the little Full Gospel Assembly of God in a nearby town and did as much as we could together. But my mom wanted to teach Bert how to cook my favorite dishes. So my stepfather had me change out the water pump on his Dodge Power Wagon. I always enjoyed working with my hands, and there is little in the way of mechanical things I can’t figure out if I try. So the water pump was a blast, even though it was simple. But my poor Bert was not enjoying the kitchen. I made it up to her after I showered with a little snuggle time.

At the end of the spring semester the college informed me I would not be welcome back until I paid off the complete promissory note that I was required to sign. The debt I owed the school was in the range of twelve hundred dollars, but after the promissory note it jumped over two thousand. My distaste for banks began then.

Bertha was transferring to the University of Houston for her sophomore year, and I returned to Margate to be with the folks. I helped out at the mini locker complex with the crew of Haitian men who my stepfather had hired. William F. Ogden is also a Marine, a veteran of World War II and Korea, so he was confident that I knew how to lead men. One time the work required that a large stack of cinder block be moved by hand from the pallets they were received on into the building to be near the sites were they would be used. I first made sure every one of the men had gloves because the blocks will tear the skin of even a heavily calloused hand. Then I went to the pile of block and took the first two block into the building to show by example what was required of the men. After that I moved more block than any two of the others combined, sort of a challenge to them to keep up. My stepdad became worried that someone would get hurt moving block at that pace and put me on a different assignment. The Haitian men worked harder for me than any other foreman my stepdad had assigned to them.

When the mini locker was finished, the company decided they liked my stepdad’s work so much they wanted to move him and his family to Dallas, Texas to work on condominiums. I was without employment for a week, but didn’t need any money except to pay my college debt. So when I saw a help wanted sign at the local Denny's Restaurant, I went in and offered to fill in for the manager for one week, just to have something to do. I became the line cook on the midnight to eight AM shift. I ran the place for eight hours a night for six nights. But I couldn’t stay. If I didn’t move with my family, I would have no place to stay. So when the week was up and there was still no replacement, I had to leave the manager without a night shift line cook. I hated to leave him out on a limb like that.

To be continued….

Ol’ Fuzzy is not employable and was denied for disability benefits. The only thing I have is the blogs. But I don’t qualify for ads on the blogs until September. If you like the scribbles I post, please help me keep it going. You can leave me a gratuity by dropping a buck or two in Ol' Fuzzy's Tip Jar. This is a PayPal account I opened on Wednesday, April 5, 2017.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol 10

I spent the Holidays between semesters in Lakeland, FL while my family was scattered across the country visiting other relatives for their Holiday vacations. There was work to be had locally, and I was glad for the money to help pay my tuition and board. The second semester I was able to take a full course load. My course of study dictated that I take Old and New Testament surveys, English, speech, homeletics, hermaneutics, pastoral counseling, and specific Bible courses. I also took some math and science as electives.

My English professor, Dr. Bush, was a Brit born in “Indier,” as he put it. I had great fun discussing one of my favorite poets with him, Kipling. Dr. Bush was always telling dry jokes, the kind that are guaranteed to crack me up. No one else got them, however, and they all looked at me funny as I rolled on the floor laughing. I passed that course with an A!

English Literature was another fun course. The professor earned his doctorate by making a new translation of Beowulf and comparing the story with that of Arthur. It was interesting to hear the Old English language as he read the original work from a printed copy he kept for reference. The Old English word Beowulf means bear, as does the Latin word Arcturus from which we get the name of Arthur. The similarities continue from there. I won’t go into more detail because my memory is failing and I no longer have my notes from the class.

The semester was marked by many great speakers who came to our chapel services: Charles Coleson, Pat Robertson, Vaudie Lambert, and many others. Having the opportunity to meet and question the great preachers and speakers who passed through the chapel gave us a broader outlook on out chosen profession. Some of the people whom I had looked up to turned out to be quite shallow without the team of writers behind them to put wise words in their mouths, while some of the more obscure turned out to be the most wise. The praise of the public is not a good way to measure the worth of the words.

Springtime brought out several interesting events the students put on for ourselves. We had a three-lift weight lifting competition, bench, squat and dead-lift. We had a play by several students that was written by the director. And on the day that prospective students from high schools across the region came to look over the campus and decide to attend or not, one of the students preached from a boat in Lake Bonnie. The audience sat on blankets on the grassy shore to listen. A portable public address system, battery operated was used in the boat. And I met for the first time a young lady who would change my life. Not having a blanket at the shore that day my date and I borrowed space on the blanket of one of the high school seniors by the name of Bertha Schifflett.

That summer I tried to attend summer school, but I owed about eight hundred dollars, and the college would not allow debtors to attend summer semester. So I went to where my family was staying in Margate, FL. My stepfather had landed a contract with Central Land Development Corporation out of Dallas, TX to build a mini-locker complex in West Palm Beach. I worked with him on the project, until personalities once again clashed. This time he appointed me site manager for a project in Perine, FL, building the world’s first two story drive-through dairy store. If you are ever in Perine and pass the corner of US-1 and Royal Palm Blvd, look at the Farm Store on the North side of Royal Palm. All of the errors are my own.

As that summer wound down, I had saved up a couple thousand dollars to put toward my college tuition and board. My debt at the school ballooned to twelve hundred due to the promissory note the school had me to sign. But with my savings and the G.I. Bill, I was able to get back into it. I signed up for another full load.

To be continued….

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol 9

After I left the Corps, I worked for my stepfather a short while until a personality conflict led to my dismissal. I worked as day labor on the road construction crew for a while and bounced around trying to fit in. The people who attended every church I visited all agreed on one thing, I should attend Bible college. So I picked up my diploma from the Mount Clemens Board of Education and applied to the Southeastern College of the Assemblies of God (now known as Southeastern University).

I arrived early only to find out that my acceptance to the school was contingent on my paying the entry fee up front. I was devastated and started looking for work to earn the fee. As I brought it to one congregation of fellow believers for prayer, I was taught a lesson on receiving by God. A lady in the congregation decided to pay the entrance fee for me. I believe her when she said God laid it on her heart. But when I asked her to allow me to earn it by doing some form of work for her, she rebuked me in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Her words were basically that I must learn to put aside my pride and accept what God has given. If I could not accept a simple entrance fee donation, how could I accept the free gift of grace unto salvation? I meekly submitted with, “Yes, ma’am,” and went to the office of admissions with her check. This is not an easy lesson to swallow. My father worked for everything he had and gave to us, his children, first before he took anything for himself. I had been infused with the desire to earn my own way. But the impossibility of that was brought home to me in this lesson. We cannot earn salvation, it can only be given by God out of His grace. Wow!

My first semester, I was restricted to only twelve credit hours. I wanted to finish the course on time, but the rules of the school were inflexible. Because I had an honorable discharge from the Marine Corps, I was exempt from physical education. Apparently they felt I was taught how to keep fit in all the running, calisthenics and weight training I went through in the Marines. I took the attitude that I had run enough to last me a lifetime, and this was the time to study and pray. The college had a requirement that all students attend a daily chapel service before most classes started. This was my favorite period of the day.

I got into the habit of entering the chapel early with other students to pray before the service. It is here that my first introduction to contemplative prayer was made, but none of us understood what we were doing. Founded by the Church of God in Christ for white folks who might be uncomfortable in a black church, the Assemblies of God is a Pentecostal denomination that traces its roots to the Azuza Street revival of the early Twentieth Century. They may not have had Apostolic Succession or a Catholic view of the faith (I will cover the meaning of the word catholic in a future post), but they had a relationship with Christ that was often lacking in other churches. And they talked tongues. A lot.

It was through glossolalia that I began contemplative prayer. We would gather in the morning and let our mind go while our mouths were busy uttering words we didn’t know. I had visions, most of which I subsequently forgot, and laid hands on my fellow students for prayer that was answered as we expected it to be.

One prayer stands out in my mind. A student asked me to pray for him that the Holy Spirit would correct some deficiency in his life. I lightly touched the fingers of my right hand to his forehead and said, “Holy Spirit, have Your way in this life.” Immediately, he fell to the floor as though dead. I spoke without thought, “Get up, I’m not through praying for you yet.” And he stood, suddenly restored to full consciousness. I don’t know why he fell out. No one had ever done so when I prayed before or since. Yet I was witnessing so many miraculous events that I was not inclined to question it.

As a child, the Barefoot Sisters of Mt. Carmel taught me that miracles are happening every day, and that it is up to God to decide when and where a miracle takes place. But until I joined the AG, I had only heard of miracles elsewhere, never witnessing them first hand. Here miracles were so commonplace that people were not surprised by them, they were surprised by their absence. That kind of faith was very appealing to me, and still is. Yet I detected something lacking in the regular church practice of these Pentecostals that was only partly made up for by our very non-conformist morning meetings in the chapel.

To be continued….

Thursday, June 15, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol 8

The second worst year of my life was 1979. While I did everything to the best of my abilities and tried to be the best Marine in the squadron, nothing I did could change the prejudgment of the senior NCOs who were trying to get rid of me. In June I would become eligible for a good conduct medal. The ones who hated me without cause were determined to keep me from receiving one.

In February, we set up a day bivouac in a field behind the auxiliary airstrip to practice sending and receiving radio messages and teletype messages over the radios. It was my job to set up, maintain and supervise the field expedient antennae for each HF radio. Our communications squadron would commute to the field every morning and sleep in the bachelor enlisted quarters (BEQ) at night. Those of us who didn’t have vehicles would wait at a shelter near the BEQ for people going to the bivouac site to give us a ride to work. One Thursday morning, every car that stopped had an excuse not to give me a ride. Finally I saw the First Sargent drive past, alone in his car. He pointed at me and laughed, shouting, “I have you now.”

A half hour later, when I was already late for work, a woman and her underage daughter stopped to give me a ride. The woman said her husband was on float and she kept her daughter out of school so the two of them could go out and party. She invited me to join them. They just happened to have a quart of my favorite whiskey, Wild Turkey by Austin Nichols. I said, “No offense, ma’am, but I have to get to work. I would love to party with you after hours. But not just now.”

She said, “Sorry son, it’s now or never.”

I replied, “Ma’am, I am a Marine, first, last and only. I have an appointed place of duty, and I will do my best to be there.” When she heard that, she looked surprised and gave in. She dropped me off at the bivouac site forty-five minutes after I was supposed to be there. The Corporal over my section told me I was in big trouble because I was being charged for desertion. When the charge sheet was finally turned in, I could only be charged with unauthorized absence from an appointed place of duty. I shrugged it off, because if this kind of stuff is accepted in the Marine Corps it wouldn’t survive the next fight, whether on the battlefield or in Congress.

I was brought before the squadron Commanding Officer for Article 15 Office Hours. When he told me the name on the charge sheet I said, “I saw him drive by with an empty car and didn’t stop.” The Colonel dismissed the charges against me and wrote a charge sheet against the First Sargent for disobeying a lawful order by not stopping to give a Marine a ride at the Share-a-Ride station that morning. He paid a fine and had to leave the Marine Corps at the end of his current enlistment. But his vengeance on me would be sooner than that.

In late March I was called into the base hospital for evaluation of the weight standard. My weight on that day was 212 lbs., five pounds over the official weight limit for my height. But the corpsman recording my weight and height tried to measure me two inches shorter than my actual height so I could be discharged for overweight. When I protested enough that my actual height of 73.25 inches had to be recorded he added twenty pounds to my weight, recording me at 232 lbs. The physician attending never looked at the scale nor did he examine me. He merely took the corpsman’s word for it. Most Navy Corpsmen are the best, most conscientious people in any armed service. But the NCO network can always find one corruptible by a case of cheap scotch.

I was discharged on April 9, 1979, and took the bus to Franklin, North Carolina, leaving the service that I loved and planned to spend my life in for the last time. Franklin is a place that anyone who loves Jesus Christ can fit in. I had some trouble finding steady work, but I knew I was home at last.

To be continued….

My Life So Far, Volume 7

The rest of 1978 was spent in something of a depressed fog. I still did my job with my best effort, but things like remedial physical training were not attended to with the gusto I once had. At Christmas I chose to stay behind and stand guard duty in the squadron armory. During my watches I practiced unlimbering the shotgun, a Remington 870 Riotmaster, from the sling position as rapidly and accurately as I could. If someone broke into the armory, a slung shotgun was as good as no shotgun.

On my third night of watch, the Officer of the Day told me not to load my shotgun. Two hours later the Sargent of the Guard came by and told me I was authorized to load three rounds in the magazine but not to have a round in the chamber unless I had cause to fire. Apparently, an argument came up over which was more important, protecting the weapons under my watch or keeping me form accidentally discharging my firearm. I never did an accidental discharge in my entire life. That’s because I take safety seriously.

The next week I received a six day pass to go home and visit my family for New Years Day. Eighteen hours by Trailways bus from Havelock to Ashville was a slow means of winding down from the stress and climbing out of the pit of depression. I arrived in Ashville an hour after the bus station closed and my connection to Franklin didn’t come through until morning. I was alone without enough money to rent a room in a town too far from my home to walk in one night.

I called my stepfather and the family came and got me in the pickup truck. It was after midnight when they arrived in Ashville, but it was a bright time for me to be around people who were not hostile or indifferent to me. I spent the time rebuilding my soul as well as reconnecting to my family. The last day before I was to return there were two buses scheduled to go back. I chose to take the early bus to avoid a possible snow storm that threatened to inundate the Eastern seaboard. That choice angered the senior NCOs who hated me.

I was the only Marine who had liberty that weekend that made it back to the squadron. No one knew what to make of a man who couldn’t get promoted due to his weight wanting to fulfill the mission so much he would give up the opportunity to extend his liberty for an extra two days while the roads were cleared through the mountains. I watched the snow fall behind the bus the whole way back to the coast.

I looked foreward to a better year in 1979, but the senior NCOs had other plans for me.

To be continued….

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol. 5

My next duty station was with the Second Marine Air Wing in Cherry Point Marine Corps Air Station, North Carolina. As soon as I checked in with the squadron CO at Marine Wing Communications Squadron Twenty- eight, I asked to speak with the squadron legal officer. I explained my situation vis the Okinawa charges and asked what he could do. The man worked for me as if it was the most important thing in the Marine Corps. Although I have had trouble from many senior staff NCOs, the officers of the Marine Corps always treated me fairly and with the respect due to a fellow Marine.

After about three weeks my charges from Okinawa were dropped and expunged from my record. But the snide notations in my Sevice Record Book (SRB) were still there for other NCOs in on the lingo.

Life at Cherry Point was different than life in the Third Marine Division. The air wing did things in a more relaxed way. I began to make a mark on the radio shop with my knowledge of field expedient antennas. The big RIF caused all units in the Corps to have many unfilled billets for junior NCOs that they were not authorised to promote people to fill. There is a mechanism for putting a person in a job that that person’s rank is not high enough to fill. It is called brevett rank. In the 1970s, there were two methods of giving a person brevett rank, give him an official but temporary promotion that includes the pay and priveleges or to give him the authority and responcibility only at work with none of the pay and privelage the rank entails outside of work. I didn’t qualify for the first one because of Gen. Wilson’s fat-body order. So I got to do the job of a sargent with none of the pay or privelage of that rank.

In the month after I reported in a MWCS 28, we had a change of command cerimony for the squadron. The new Colonel was a veteran of Korea and Viet Nam. He boosted morale and performance significantly in six months. As I stood on the flightline of the auxiliary airstrip in the parade cerimony, I could see the mountains that I had called home since my parents moved there. I experienced homesickness for a place I had only visited once.

From Cherry Point I went on the big Exercise Solid Shield 1978. Marine Wing Communications Squadron 28 was loaded on the old WWII vintage LPA USS Francis Marion, named for the old Revolutionary War hero known as the Swamp Fox for his cavalry campaign in the Carolinas and Georgia. The ship was manned by an all reserve crew. Marines were not treated as mere cargo on this float, we were crosstrained in Naval MOSs as well. I stood radio watch on the bridge and changed out a bilge pump in the engine room.

When it came time for us to debark, LCM8s were brougnt alongside and we climbed over the side on cargo nets just like the Marines in WWII did. We made a combat assault of Onslow Beach North Carolina and moved by tactical tractor-trailer to Bogue Field on Camp Lejeune, NC. I had trained in Boot Camp to debark via cargo net, but this was the first and only time I ever did.

Later that fall, I was chosen to go on Opperation Reforger 1978. This is the big NATO exercise in Europe where we pretended to defend against a Soviet attack. Marines were on the extreem left flank of the defense line, the Baltic coast, protecting the city of Hamburg from communist aggression. As a part of the Marine Air Wing, I set up communications with the sundry commands of the wing as well as the Marine Division doing the actual defense. One Bundes Luftwaffe colonel acting as referree refused to admit that Marine aviation could stop Russian tanks with bombs. I asked the Squadron CO for permission to speak, and when granted I said, auf deutch, “Sir, you may recall the effects of the Stukageswadern on French tanks in May, 1940. Marines invented divebombing on land targets and your predescessors copied it from us.” The German was more angry that an enlisted man would correct him, and be right, than that he was wrong. But the showing of the Marines in Reforger ‘78 was so strong that Hamburg was deemed successfully defended by the referrees.

To be continued…

My Life So Far, Vol. 6

Between the two floats, I met a young Woman Marine, let’s call her Anne because that is not her name and I don’t have her permission to mention her in writing. Anne was beautiful, charming, alluring, and as a Marine I knew she was tough. As we got to know each other’s likes and dislikes, I was surprised at how much we had in common. I fell for Anne hook, line and sinker. My uncle owned a pawn shop in Miami, FL. I had him find a wedding set, white gold, which he sold to me at cost. Then I asked Anne to marry me. She agreed and gushed over the engagement ring. I had her hold the other two, the wedding bands, as well until the date we would set.

Anne claimed to dislike her Marine Corps life and wanted out. She told me she was playing on the psychologists to get a mental illness discharge, what had been known until that year as a “Section 8.” I believed her because I was in love. I didn’t realize her discharge was legitimate. Anne was bipolar and schizophrenic, two disorders that run in my own family. I should have recognized the symptoms, but as they say, love is blind.

After Anne was released from active duty, and I was sailing the north sea in an LST, she asked me for money to buy the wedding decorations and pay for the ballroom where the reception would be held. I cleaned out my credit union account with alacrity, and mailed her a check for over five thousand 1978 dollars. As time went by her letters became more vague and less emotional. Then came the letter in which she returned the wedding set and called off the wedding. She claimed to have spent the money on a van to ferry church members in. I was so crushed I could not think.

One thing I had no desire to possess was the wedding set. A barmaid at the little country music joint right outside the front gate was a sweet lady who was trying to save up for a fertility procedure so she could be a mommy. I just gave her the rings to sell or wear, I cared neither way. This was the single most devastating thing that happened to me since my grandmother died slowly of cancer.

I loved Anne with my whole being, so the inconsistencies in her actions and words didn’t register at the time. In hindsight they’re plain as sunshine. Anne acted sophisticated and self-actualized, but she wore a brazier that was two cup sizes too small. I noticed the bulge of her bests above the cups whenever she exposed her cleavage in a low neckline. On day I asked her if she wore only push up bras. She said she didn’t need push ups because her breasts pushed themselves up. But her breasts were always tender. I took her to the local Cato’s store and bought her all new underwear that fit her. Her breasts were never sore after that.

Anne claimed to be Christian, Born-again Evangelical. She attended one of those tongue talking churches near the base. I went with her on every Sunday. We had a good time and God ministered through me in prayers, laying-on of hands, and prophecy. A couple people were healed by God when I laid on hands. At this time in my early walk with God, my lips would tingle when I spoke the words God gave me and my hands would tingle when I laid hands on the sick or oppressed.

But Anne’s Christianity didn’t carry over to Saturday nights. One of her friends was married to a professional musician who had a Country Music band that played gigs in bars on Saturday nights. Anne wanted to bring me along to show me how country she was. When we broke up I discovered that in her other personality, Anne didn’t like country music. After Anne’s discharge, but before the letter breaking off the engagement, Anne’s friend invited me to come along with them on one more gig. I wrote a poem about missing Anne that night, set to music. I know this is cliche, I wrote it on a napkin at the band table with the band members’ wives. I even borrowed a pen from one of the ladies.

Every time I see them dancing I miss you.

My arms ache to hold you tight.

The bar maid is a pretty sight,

But I want to be with you tonight.

There were three other verses to it but they are not as good as the first. I realize its not professional songwriter quality, but I am not a polished pro. Anne’s jilting me was the one thing that made me lose interest in trying to remain in the corps. So when the senior NCOs worked to evict me, I no longer fought to stay in. I was in a depression that lasted for almost a full year.

To be continued….

Thursday, June 1, 2017

My Life So Far, Vol. 5

After about three weeks my charges from Okinawa were dropped and expunged from my record. But the snide notations in my Service Record Book (SRB) were still there for other NCOs in on the lingo.

Life at Cherry Point was different than life in the Third Marine Division. The air wing did things in a more relaxed way. I began to make a mark on the radio shop with my knowledge of field expedient antennas. The big RIF caused all units in the Corps to have many unfilled billets for junior NCOs that they were not authorized to promote people to fill. There is a mechanism for putting a person in a job that that person’s rank is not high enough to fill. It is called brevet rank. In the 1970s, there were two methods of giving a person brevet rank, give him an official but temporary promotion that includes the pay and privileges or to give him the authority and responsibility only at work with none of the pay and privilege the rank entails outside of work. I didn’t qualify for the first one because of Gen. Wilson’s fat-body order. So I got to do the job of a Sargent with none of the pay or privilege of that rank.

In the month after I reported in a MWCS 28, we had a change of command ceremony for the squadron. The new Colonel was a veteran of Korea and Viet Nam. He boosted morale and performance significantly in six months. As I stood on the flight line of the auxiliary airstrip in the parade ceremony, I could see the mountains that I had called home since my parents moved there. I experienced homesickness for a place I had only visited once.

From Cherry Point I went on the big Exercise Solid Shield 1978. Marine Wing Communications Squadron 28 was loaded on the old WWII vintage LPA USS Francis Marion, named for the old Revolutionary War hero known as the Swamp Fox for his cavalry campaign in the Carolinas as and Georgia. The ship was manned by an all reserve crew. Marines were not treated as mere cargo on this float, we were cross trained in Naval MOSs as well. I stood radio watch on the bridge and changed out a bilge pump in the engine room.

When it came time for us to debark, LCM8s were brought alongside and we climbed over the side on cargo nets just like the Marines in WWII did. We made a combat assault of Onslow Beach North Carolina and moved by tactical tractor-trailer to Bogue Field on Camp Lejeune, NC. I had trained in Boot Camp to debark via cargo net, but this was the first and only time I ever did.

Later that fall, I was chosen to go on Operation Reforger 1978. This is the big NATO exercise in Europe where we pretended to defend against a Soviet attack. Marines were on the extreme left flank of the defense line, the Baltic coast, protecting the city of Hamburg from communist aggression. As a part of the Marine Air Wing, I set up communications with the sundry commands of the wing as well as the Marine Division doing the actual defense. One Bundes Luftwaffe colonel acting as referee refused to admit that Marine aviation could stop Russian tanks with bombs. I asked the Squadron CO for permission to speak, and when granted I said, auf deutch, “Sir, you may recall the effects of the Stukageswadern on French tanks in May, 1940. Marines invented dive bombing on land targets and your predecessors copied it from us.” The German was more angry that an enlisted man would correct him, and be right, than that he was wrong. But the showing of the Marines in Reforger ‘78 was so strong that Hamburg was deemed successfully defended by the referees.

To be continued…